The Man, The City, The Lighthouse
by ilspooner3
Summary: A cross dimensional adventure, involving some speculations and interpretations on my part. Very much a work in progress!
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hi! I just had this idea at about 11 at night, and thought I'd write it up because hey, no point letting it go to waste. I don't have a coherent ending in sight, but that's alright. I'll think of something. It might take a while to update though. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

Swirling blackness. Dull, thudding pain. Blood throbbing through sore and swollen flesh. The darkness stretched on forever, the only movement and colour was a greyish mist at the edges. Booker knew he was asleep, probably unconscious. It was an odd feeling. Still, he felt the pain, faint, but ever present. Aware enough to know something was wrong, but unable to do anything about it. The mists ahead were beginning to take on different colours. They were pale at first, reds and blues so thin and weak they were barely distinguishable. They grew slowly more vivid, and other colours appeared without form or pattern.

"Is it a dream?" Booker wondered. "Did I hit my head? Or drink too much again?" The mists had almost swallowed the darkness now, and faint shapes became visible through the gloom. It looked like a room, tables, chairs and shelves beginning to swirl into view. A voice joined the cacophony of rushing blood in Booker's head. First, it was nearly inaudible, but swiftly grew in volume until it sounded like a megaphone in his ear.

"DeWitt? DEWITT!" Booker shook himself, and looked up. A fat, sweaty man was sitting at the desk in front of him, leaning forward with both hands pressed down. His pale blue eyes shook with fury as he slowly sat back down in his seat. "DeWitt," he said in a quietly angry voice, "I know you are a drunk, but this is frankly ridiculous." Booker nodded, too confused to reply. The man in front of him shuffled papers on his desk, flicked through them, and looked back up with a sly grin.

"You know how much you owe, DeWitt?" Memories began to crawl back into Booker's aching head. The details were still rather fuzzy though.

"A... couple of thousand?" The words were thick and slurred, and as he spoke, Booker realised just how thirsty he was. The man grinned wider.

"Twenty thousand. And you're _long_ overdue."

"Look," Booker began nervously, "I can still get this sorted. I have some money somewhere..."

"You've been saying that for three months. Repeating yourself won't make it any more true. I might have to consider this account... closed." As he spoke, two massive guards stepped into view. They strode around the desk and threw Booker off his chair. Booker sprawled out onto the wooden floor with a sharp thud. As he fell, he heard a soft voice in the back of his head, barely audible above his moans.

"...some sort of penance..." Before Booker could think about this voice, he was dragged up to his feet by his collar, then received a heavy punch to the nose. Booker collapsed again, falling face first with a sickening crunch.

"...what's done will be done..." Booker tried to get up, pushing off the floor, when a heavy boot slammed into his back.

"Don't kill him here, please. Out in the corridor, at least." The debt collector's voice was smug. Booker was pulled back up by the collar, but was allowed to remain on his feet this time. The room was spinning wildly.

"Wait!" Booker pleaded, through a mouth of broken teeth. "Surely... surely there's something I can do..." The guard on his left punched him in the cheek for the remark, and raised his hand for another swing.

"Hold on." The guard immediately dropped his fist. "Turn him around." Booker was unceremoniously shoved in the shoulder, and spun for a second before regaining his bearings. The debt collector had his back to Booker, and was muttering. As Booker's vision cleared, he realised that the red-haired man was talking on the phone, and was apparently in a heated conversation.

"Rothwild? You sure? Goddammit. He was one of the best. No one free? Well, I might have an answer. A debtor who can't pay. DeWitt. Yeah, I know. He's a drunk bastard, but a vet as well. No, I don't. Check with him. Yeah. Call me back." He replaced the phone and swiveled back around. He grinned broadly, revealing worn and browned teeth.

"Well, DeWitt, you might be in luck. Boys, fetch DeWitt some water." The guards behind Booker retreated and left the room. Booker cautiously pulled up another chair and sat in it.

"What do you mean 'in luck'? Your goons were trying to kill me a moment ago."

"You might not be able to pay, but we can give you a chance at redemption, as it were."

"Redemption? That's awfully big-hearted." The phone rang, and the collector ripped it out of its rest before swinging around again.

"Dempsey, that you? What did he say? Shut the hell up, I'm busy. Yes or no. Okay. Great." During the conversation, one of the guards returned and shoved a glass of water in Booker's face. He drained it immediately, and as he put down the glass, the collector had turned back around.

"Well, DeWitt, we might be willing to overlook your debt."

"What's the catch?" Booker asked suspiciously.

"You'll have to do something for us first." Booker didn't reply, but stared at the man in front of him with suspicion. He sighed, and elaborated. "There's a girl. She's rather... important to my boss. Managed to escape a while ago, off the coast of Maine somewhere."

"Go on."

"We sent one of our guys, but he turned up dead. And we're stretched a bit thin at the moment. The boss said; if you bring us the girl, we'll wipe away your debt." Booker pondered for a moment.

"I dunno. Sounds a bit off." The smile on the collectors face dropped to a grimace.

"This isn't something that gets offered often, DeWitt. You're a lucky man to be given another chance. Take it, and you'll walk out of here free. Leave it, and you'll be leaving rolled up in a rug, you get me?" Booker tensed, and could feel the two guards right behind him.

"Alright... I'll do it." The tension in the room dissipated almost immediately, and the collector grinned.

"Good man, good man. Just remember..." Booker's head was starting to spin again. The room and everything in it blurred together, swirling into mists again...

"Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt."


	2. Chapter 2

"Bring us the girl..." Booker moaned to himself. "...bring us the girl... and wipe away the debt..." All he could see was a seething mass of grey above him. Cold rain was stinging his skin, but it was all still so faint; so very faint.

"See, he's starting to put his story together." The voice was quiet, but awfully familiar.

"You're quite fond of this theory of yours." Booker tried to move, to see where the voices were coming from, but his muscles wouldn't obey. He could barely feel the rain, feel the hands supporting his body.

"He's manufacturing memories from his old ones."

"Well, the brain adapts."

"I should know. I lived it." Booker's vision was growing fuzzier. His mind was a roil. Memories were being recalled and forgotten within seconds. His eyes closed, and the darkness swallowed everything once more.

It was still raining, cold, fast and heavy. The headache was finally going away, but there were other sore spots that still ached. Booker opened his eyes. It was the same view he had before, an empty, grey sky. Booker couldn't tell if it'd been five minutes since he'd last lost consciousness, or hours, or even days. It was a familiar feeling, years of drinking did that to you. Still, he felt a lot better now. His vision and head were clear, for a start. He slowly got up, massaging his aching back and swearing under his breath. It was a strange place to wake up, a new place if nothing else. He was sitting on a boardwalk, stretching out into grey, churning waters. The boards were old and worn, and slick with rain. Looking around warily, Booker saw something that caught his eye. Two figures were standing towards the end of one of the boardwalks, wearing matching bright yellow raincoats. One of them was hauling a rope, the other standing off to the side, motionless. They didn't seem to notice him. There didn't seem to be anyone, or anything else around. Booker couldn't see past the boardwalk, the end that presumably stretched towards shore was swallowed in a deep, thick fog. He took a few uneasy steps, testing both the strength of the wood and the steadiness of his own gait. The wood creaked and groaned under each step, but held. He walked slowly towards the two people, trying to get his bearings. It was impossible to tell where he was in the storm. It seemed wiser to ask someone for help, rather than wander off into the fog alone. As he approached, one of the people turned, and frowned.

"Brother," she said in a British accent, "he's woken up."

"Will that pose a problem?" His voice seemed familiar, but Booker couldn't place from where. Booker approached warily, but neither of them seemed perturbed nor dangerous. The brother had turned around now, but he still hauled the rope slowly. They looked to be twins, both with pale skin, red hair and light blue eyes. Nearly the mirror image, just slightly differing heights and the obvious gender difference.

"Um," Booker said hoarsely, trying to think of a good way to begin, "do you... y'know, know where we are?"

"We do." The man said.

"The question is, do you?" The sister asked.

"No, that's why I asked." Booker was getting agitated now, and very cold. The rain wasn't letting up, and the wind was beginning to pick up as well.

"There we are." The man said, as he finished pulling the rope. He then tied the rope around one of the boardwalk struts, while his sister stared impassively.

"Took you long enough." She said in an annoyed tone.

"It would've been much faster if you had helped."

"Perhaps."

"Excuse me," Booker broke in, "I asked you a question."

"You did." The woman said, back to him.

"Yeah, and you didn't answer me." The man turned, and affixed him with a strange look.

"It doesn't matter where you are now." He said, in that odd, stilted tone they both had.

"What matters is where we're taking you." She pointed into the water. A small rowboat was floating there, rocking gently with the waves. It was attached to the rope that the man was hauling, which was now secured. It was Booker's turn to look at them oddly.

"...Taking me? Where? I don't even..."

"You agreed to this." The man stood aside, and gestured to the boat.

"To wipe away the debt."

"Unless you want to change your mind."

"We won't mind."

"They will."

"It's all up to you, of course." Booker stood dumbstruck for a minute. His mind was more rattled than he thought. He couldn't remember coming here, he remembered the girl, the deal he'd made, but everything else... it was confusing, it hurt... Something warm trickled down his face. Booker touched it, and his fingers came away stained with blood. The twins simply looked at him blankly. Waiting for a response. Booker found himself walking forward slowly, one heavy footfall at a time. He lowered himself into the boat, head bowed, not looking up as the twins rowed away from shore.


End file.
